


then be my mistake

by lookingforatardis



Category: Actor RPF, Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Angry Armie, Arguing, Charmie is complicated af, Graham Norton - Freeform, Idk what to tag this as tbh, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Oh My God, nervous!timmy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 13:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17581604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingforatardis/pseuds/lookingforatardis
Summary: Prompt: Matty and Timmy share a kiss after GN and it makes Armie jealous.Or, Timmy is deeply flattered to find out Matty has a crush on him and finds it difficult to concentrate when he's around, despite having a complicated situation with Armie on the DL.





	then be my mistake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cumpeachx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumpeachx/gifts).



> I have loved Matty and the 1975 for so many years and I was almost more excited to find out they would be on GN then Timmy lol (but only almost). I was a bit intimidated to write him because his voice is so distinct, but it turns out I've watched enough interviews over the years that it came a bit naturally. I love these people so much, this is all complete fiction. 
> 
> Except Timmy's reactions during the GN segment. Those are fucking real and it's wild that this boy literally didn't clap because he was frozen and just stared, completely dazed, at Matty through the interview. I will never recover from that. Shout out to g for screaming about it with me for literally hours.
> 
> (if yall don't listen to the 1975, i implore you to at the very least listen to be my mistake. and also everything else.)

The set of Graham Norton had been stressful enough for Timmy before adding on the pressure of meeting a guy who had openly expressed interest in him, a guy who’s fanbase suspiciously crossed over Timmy’s. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the band—in fact, he’d been known to listen to them on occasion, and when Matty (or did he prefer Matt now?) was asked about him and Beautiful Boy, he’d been sent the clip by several people (even Armie, to his surprise, though it was accompanied by a good-natured jealous teasing), sparking his curiosity for over an hour of interviews and live clips. So no, he wasn’t unfamiliar with the guy.

But he was in the same building and Saoirse was teasing him about it. “He was probably just joking,” Timmy rolls his eyes, presses his hand against his neck, avoids eye contact. They get a heads up that they’re starting soon and Saoirse leans down to let him kiss her cheek before walking to her own room. Left alone, he wonders if Graham will ask Matty about it. Or would he not, would he bring it up? Would it be completely ignored and Timmy was worrying over nothing?

 _Was_ he worrying? Was he hoping?

His mind shifts gears when he gets a text from Armie wishing him luck, his head falling back against the couch. When did his life turn into this, he wonders. Was it when they began promo? Before that? Certainly it wasn’t back in Crema, it must have been at least when people began noticing him, right? This sudden sense of nerves at the mere mention of Armie, of anyone really, who had ever looked at him and saw things he refused to discuss with the public. Armie was a topic he could go off on, a familiar, safe, welcome topic. He was also the very thing Timmy knew would get him into trouble, and now with Matty around, Timmy wasn’t sure what was the bigger risk—Armie, who he knew made him flustered and rambley, who he was contractually obligated not to say too much about; or Matty, who was a complete wild card.

 

 

He sorts through his phone before being called, a mistake in and of itself, his thumbs typing out the last name he should be looking for, his lip between his teeth when the page loads. Someone had told him that Matty was a more “rock star” version of himself, all gangly limbs and curly hair and a young but deeply intelligent fanbase. Timmy didn’t have any tattoos though, he thinks idly, staring at the pictures. “Tim, you ready?” He closes his phone with pink cheeks and nods, follows the guy around a corner towards the stage.

 

 

 

He’d relaxed a bit as the interview went on, felt like he wasn’t as expected to be proper here, relieved when the overall attitude is playful and open as opposed to most of his American spots. When he told the story about Armie, he smiled and thought about that day, the excited nerves, the hope.

The energy changed when Graham mentioned the band, Timmy’s body shifting on instinct, his lip pulled between his teeth as he tried to get a better look when the lights dimmed, his palms sweating immediately as he the music began. Matty looked over, had Timmy imagined that? He looked again, his eyes met Timmy’s, certainly _that_ wasn’t his imagination. Timmy’s heart raced, the music sinking deep into him.

This man likes me, _me_ , he thinks, his head fuzzy, eyes blinking each time Matty looks over. He swallows hard, the buzz in his blood making him shake with nerves. As the verse carries on, Timmy has to stop himself from leaning too far forward, his eyes searching Matty’s body, lip worried between his teeth. He must be imagining this, it’s probably a coincidence that Matty’s eyes keep flicking to the side, right?

Timmy is on edge the entire performance, lost in his head, the lyrics a blur as Matty commands the stage with an ease Timmy desires. Desires? Is that the right word, he wonders? It’s nothing, really. Just a draw to the kind of energy Matty has. It’s flattery, really. He’s just flattered. Deeply flattered.

Because Matty has told people he likes him. _Matty._ A proper star with a proper audience and brilliant ideas and life experience and his own confusing sexuality and backstory. Matty, the unattainable to everyone, except possibly, just maybe, him.

Armie confessing to Timmy he maybe sort of had a crush on him had been one thing, the words soft and well-meaning late one night. But Armie _knew_ Timmy, knew his mind and his soul, had feelings for the person he was. Matty knows nothing, only what Timmy shows to everyone, that top layer of himself. And he _likes_ him. Is dancing on stage and shouting and smiling wildly and _likes him_. Without knowing every detail and quirk that Armie claimed made him charming. Liked him without needing all the background Timmy felt was necessary.

They finish, Timmy lost in thought as Matty throws his arms up in the air with a bit of a nod. He watches the shirt move against him, the guitar. There’s no way, it must have just been a joke, right? Or something Matty said because their fans liked it, because he knew that it was the thing people wanted to hear. He didn’t really like him, did he?

He glanced back towards the couch and Timmy felt a chill, the sound of clapping surrounding him as he the band started walking over. He should clap, surely he should clap, but he can barely stand, breathe.

Matty looks directly at him and his heart stops, something passing there. _I know you know what I said_ , his look seems to convey. Timmy smiles and presses his hands against his thighs as he waits to shake his hand, his own about as steady as he feels. He nods and tries to say his name, but Matty just grins, _Hey Timmy._

He sits somehow, his mind all over the place. He looks around, his eyes skipping back to Matty. God. He pushes his hair out of his eyes when Matty glances at him before looking towards his bandmates _._

It wasn’t that he was unaware of the effect he had on people; he knew people liked him, had crushes on him. He’d heard about people before, but this felt different somehow. This felt like a mirror, some sort of confused attraction, a level of uncertainty behind the way Matty looked at him as he spoke, a quick fleeting glance. It was like what Armie must feel when everyone’s eyes were on Timmy and his own were only on Armie.

Timmy has to remind himself to focus.

And really, he wasn’t entirely sure if this was attraction or simply curiosity, but he felt a jolt of excitement when the man offered the smallest smile and nod of acknowledgement while he spoke, his eyes shining with something, excitement perhaps, jitters even. Timmy stared, his mouth open a little before he has to swallow, his eyes stuck on Matty’s as he nods, talks, the flick of his lips upwards as he eyes dance over so quickly that Timmy thinks he’s imagined it.

There was something about his voice that made it impossible for Timmy to look anywhere but at him as he spoke. Each time his eyes met Timmy’s, that familiar sense of adrenaline shot through him, his veins tingling in his arms. Did his own hair fall that way, did he lean forward and tilt his head like this, his eyes shine that way, could he capture the attention of the couch the same way with a story? His mind threatened to wander and he found himself continuously pulling it back into the story, nodding or smiling, his hand rubbing over his arm to keep his hands from shaking.

He couldn’t really remember being affected by another person like this during an interview, maybe ever. Armie, sure, but that was a different story entirely. This was different. This was fascination, attraction of a different sort. The seconds ticked by and Timmy had to resist the urge to ask him about his recovery process, his writing process, did his music pull him out of the place he’d been in the past, etc. etc., but he says something funny and it’s somehow the funniest thing Timmy’s heard, despite him not remembering what it was just moments later.

He had to control his mind in a way he normally didn’t feel the need to. Matty glanced at him quickly and his entire nervous system went haywire, his lip between his teeth for only a moment before he tried to stop reacting. It was foolish, really. He didn’t even know him, not really. But he glanced again and Timmy swallowed, had to look away to stop himself from blushing. He’d been caught and they both knew it.

He didn’t have a crush on Matty, of course not. He didn’t even know him.

But he spoke and Timmy’s mind chased the words and deciphered their meanings, wondering if there were hidden messages, wanted to know when and how he learned to speak like this.

And he’s been staring, he’s been _staring_ , he has no idea for how long, but he’s been _staring._ He presses his hand against his arm and looks down, tries to steady his breathing and focus on anything but the way Matty sounds. But he sounds so _nice_ , and Timmy can hear him from that one interview and it loops in his mind over what Matty is _actually_ saying, and he’s somehow looking at him again, how long has he been looking at him?

Graham was a bastard, he’d brought up the comment Matty had made previously about Timmy, and that time Timmy couldn’t hide the blush on his cheeks when Matty looked straight at him, _yeah, I mean, course I do. But it’s quite funny, yeah? To think I said that and here we are._ Timmy shook his head and tried to play it off, tried not to let him know how flustered it all made him. _Course I do. Course I do._ Timmy had to fiddle with the hem of his sweater when he mumbled a “It’s very flattering” to appease Graham and tried to look at Matty without losing it. But he was smirking and his own hands fidgeted in his lap and his eyes dropped down before lifting again and Timmy felt his cheeks turning shades of pink. Why, he wants to ask. Why “course I do,” what does that mean, why? But he stays silent.

He isn’t used to this, is what it actually is. He’s not used to the attention, the glances from someone like Matty. He’s used to fond, not heat. He doesn’t know how to handle the burning in his joints or the buzzing in his chest when he sees Matty smile in his direction. Maybe if he were more accustomed to being wanted this way he wouldn’t respond so viscerally, but then they’re all being told they can leave the stage and Matty’s eyes linger and Timmy feels like he’s being lit on fire and he thinks, maybe just maybe he’d feel like this regardless of whether or not he was used to the attention.

 

He’s still shaking when he makes it past the others and down to his room, Saoirse hugging him and kissing his cheek fondly, her hands smoothing over his hair. She doesn’t mention Armie, a bit surprised that Timmy seems to have forgotten him entirely, and considering the complicated non-relationship, Saoirse isn’t sure it’s not a good thing. She asks if he’s okay, though. He nods and pushes his face against her shoulder, laughing awkwardly. “God, I’m so embarrassing,” he mumbles. “I couldn’t stop staring.”

“I don’t think he minded,” she laughs, rubbing his shoulders. Timmy groans and pushes back to scratch his side. “He looked kind of nervous.”

“No he didn’t,” Timmy blushes. But she insists, and before long, they’re all sequestered off somewhere to take pictures and Timmy is buzzing again because someone tells him Matty was asking about him.

He’s laughing at something George has said when Timmy sees him, his back arched slightly. Timmy watches, dazed, as he gets closer, his feet moving of their own accord. Matty settles and looks over, meets his eyes, softens. “Hi,” he says, moving towards Timmy.

“Hey.” Timmy’s surprised his voice works. He’s immediately flustered as Matty nods slowly, pulling a breath into his lungs.

“About earlier,” he starts. “It’s quite alright if you would rather we just, if we were to forget I said anything, yeah? I can be like a real proper prat sometimes, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot so suddenly.”

“No, you were—it’s fine, I just, you know,” Timmy bites his lip and sways, his hands clasping behind his back before moving to cross over his chest. “I’m flattered, truly.”

“Well I suppose that’s good,” Matty smiles, scratching at his hand before stuffing both into his pockets.

“I mean, it’s just, you’re very…” Timmy shakes his head, tries to look away but finds he can’t, his eyes blinking slowly. “I’m usually not so bad at this,” Timmy says, his forehead crinkling up as he clears his throat.

“ _This?”_ Matty asks, eyebrows shooting up.

“I don’t know, I—it’s like,” Timmy swallows and scratches at his side, his shoulders shrinking momentarily. He lets out a sigh and finds himself swaying forward, heart skipping beats, his skin tingling with Matty’s gaze. “Okay, so I can usually rein myself in, tuck away that manic side of me that wants to geek out over something or some _one_ and focus on what’s going on around me to ground me,” he says, eyes zeroed in on Matty’s. His breath hitches at the intensity with which he’s met with.

“But you, for some reason, I don’t know, I guess because of what you said, I’m all over the place, my hands are fucking shaking,” Timmy says, biting his lip after, embarrassed at his outburst. Matty’s eyes flutter away from him for a moment before returning.

“I feel like I am quite possibly reading you inaccurately so by all means tell me to fuck off if I make you uncomfortable,” Matty says, pulling one hand out of his pocket to grip his arm near his elbow. “But I meant it, I do quite like you, I think you’re a real person, with sincerity in a time when we as humans crave it and seek it out.” Timmy flushes pink, his arms dropping to his sides. “It’s really a bit of a breath of fresh air, yeah? Your approach to it all.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Timmy mumbles, pushing his hair back behind his ear, lip caught between his teeth.

“Look, I’m not just trying to flatter you, I want to be clear that I am in fact kind of enamored with you.”

“Me, you… oh.” Timmy nods, biting his lip. Why couldn’t he look away? This is unlike him, as if he was in a trance, and yet he still couldn’t stop.

“But it’s a bit complicated, I suppose. I very seldom do things with guys,” Matty says, his tongue swiping over his lip. Timmy blushes and looks away. “Sorry, am I doing it again then? Shit man.” Timmy shakes his head and waves his hands to dismiss him.  
“Really, it’s alright,” he says, smiling at the ground.

Someone approaches them for a picture, Timmy glancing up to gauge Matty’s reaction. He follows him as they get posed, his eyes skipping over to Matty’s before settling on the camera in front of them, trying to regain some semblance of control. Matty nudges his arm, Timmy blushing when he looks over and finds him staring. He swallows and looks back at the camera, his chest tightening a bit.

After, Timmy feels torn. He knows he should return to his room, gather his things, head on his way. But Matty is next to him, and god if he didn’t wonder what it might be like. He glances back at him and allows himself a moment to stare, Matty’s lips quirking up at the side. “You wanna go?” he asks quietly. Timmy nods, his eyes blinking as he refuses to look away.

 

They wander away from the others and towards Timmy’s dressing room (“The guys’ll be all over the place in mine, yours is best”). Timmy tries not to let it show that his hands are shaking when he opens the door and lets them both in before closing it, resting his palm against the door while he takes a deep breath.

“I’m feeling sort of… apprehensive,” Timmy confesses as he turns to look at Matty.

“Yeah? S’okay. I am, too, man.” Timmy nods at him, his eyes glazing a bit as Matty walks towards him. “I’ve got a girl, y’know? I don’t want to push this that far,” he motions between them.

“Right,” Timmy mumbles, his forehead crinkling. Another guy, another girl. He’s merely moved lanes, circumstance hardly shifting. His nerves are all over the place the longer Matty stares at him and he has a moment of sheer panic, wondering if he’ll ever escape this cycle of people he can’t have.

Something is better than nothing though, that’s what he’d been telling himself for years. Matty smiles softly and tucks his hair behind his ear, Timmy shuddering at the contact. Something might be better than nothing. It’s a memory if nothing else, right? A very strange, beautiful, deeply flattering memory. To be wanted by someone like him.

He tries not to think in parallels.

“Why?” Timmy whispers, his breathing shallow as he realizes just how close they are. Matty looks at him with a question in his eyes and he shakes his head, blinks hard. “I mean, why do you like me? I’m like…”

“Fishing are we?” Matty smirks. Timmy blushes and he shrugs his shoulders.

“You just, you’re really cool.” _Cool_? Timmy cringes. “Certainly there’s a line waiting for you somewhere and you’re in here with me.”

“Yes, I am.”

Timmy smiles and feels a laugh bubble out. “Yeah, so…” he raises his eyebrows.

“I like you, can’t I like you?” Matty asks, smirking. “You’re a bit of work aren’t you?” Timmy bites his lip and looks down. “I’m quite a pretentious asshole, Timmy. I crave honesty and authenticity.”

“And you think I’m honest?”

“I know you’re genuine, s’got to count, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Timmy breathes, his mind fading out as Matty steps closer, his hand lifting up to skim along Timmy’s jaw. His eyes slip shut at the sensation. It’s different from Armie’s hands, that’s his first thought. Matty’s fingers are more cautious but callused from his instruments in ways Armie’s aren’t. Where Armie had a tendency of resting his palm against his neck, Matty lets his touch linger lightly, dance around, explore, fingertips tracing down to his neckline.

His eyes blink open to find Matty hovering close, lifting up so his breath hits Timmy. He feels dizzy, dazed even, like he’s stuck in the in-between of consciousness.  “Matty,” he whispers, his voice merely carried out on his exhale, Matty’s eyes slipping shut.

It’s different from anything Timmy’s known, Matty’s kiss. It’s curious and thorough, but soft and patient. Matty doesn’t take over, simply waits for Timmy to respond, allows the kiss to develop between them as they see fit in the moment, Timmy’s fingers lifting to snake through Matty’s hair at the nape of his neck, sighing when Matty’s hands slip under his sweater to rest on his hips, fingers cold against his skin.

It’s so different that it’s dizzying. Timmy forgot kissing felt different with different people, that it wasn’t always overwhelming warmth and comfort from Armie, that it could also be curious and relaxed.

It’s over too soon, Timmy’s body swaying towards Matty’s when he pulls back, head falling down on Matty’s shoulder as he stabilizes himself. “You’re soft,” Matty whispers, his hands moving over Timmy’s sweater and up his sides, apologizing when Timmy squirms at the ticklish spots he hits.

“What did you expect?” Timmy asks, a little breathless still, his mind racing. He was always the one with the crush, the one desperately hoping something might happen. The tables being turned is exhilarating.

“Dunno. I guess this,” Matty says. “You’re very kind. Seems like you feel things with all of you, you know? Overly sensitive in a good way, like a bit more responsive than I expected, but it’s quite nice.”

“Responsive, that’s what Armie says,” Timmy mumbles before his cheeks flush red. He pulls back and folds his arms over his chest. “I mean—”

“S’alright. We’ve all got someone, right?”

Timmy swallows and looks down, his heart lurching in his chest. “I guess so,” he shrugs. Could he really claim Armie, though? When someone else had a far more important claim? He lifts his eyes and smiles sadly at Matty. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Bout this, or your guy?” Timmy shrugs and finds himself starting to laugh at the absurdity of it all. “If I went round talking about every little mistake I made I’d be a lot more trouble, you know what I mean?”

“Is that what I am?” Timmy asks. There isn’t any bitterness to his voice, but careful curiosity—a mistake, he’d been a mistake before, isn’t that all he is to Armie after all? But this is a different kind of mistake. He finds he doesn’t really mind being a mistake for Matty, because at least with him it’s a mutual mistake, if that’s what they’ll call it. One that could be bittersweet instead of just bitter.

“Dunno. Guess we’ll see, yeah?” Timmy chuckles and pulls his lip between his teeth before leaning back down to kiss Matty, a brief peck on his lips, a surge of confidence flowing through him caused by Matty’s hands still swaying out to brush against his sides while they talked.

A few moments pass between them in careful silence before Matty steps back and wanders around the dressing room, his hands skimming surfaces as he explores. Timmy sits down after Matty does and they begin talking, the tension ebbing away as they relax into a sense of familiarity. When Matty leaves, he gives Timmy a hug and his number with a wink that makes Timmy bite his lip.

 

 

He’s ignored a text from Armie asking how it went for enough hours that he wonders if he’ll spark a phone call by responding; Armie did that sometimes, called when Timmy replied after hours of being AWOL. He just wasn’t entirely sure what to say is all, and before he had a plan, he wasn’t ready to open up a line of conversation. He watched towns speed past on the train instead, thought about time and how it moves too quickly at times and escapes like water down a hatch.

Things had been weird lately and Timmy wasn’t entirely sure where they stood anymore, if he could call Armie anything other than a friend. More than that, he wasn’t sure what he _wanted_ anymore, what was best for them.

In the end, he tells Armie that it went well. He asks about Matty, because of course he would, and Timmy bites his lips, paces, contemplates his text before hitting send. He expects a call, but it never comes. He doesn’t really sleep, mostly just rests his eyes or stares at things to keep him occupied before growing tired and staring out over the lights of Paris, counting hours and time differences before grabbing his phone and staring at his careless text. “ _We kissed but it wasn’t a big deal.”_

He’d been angry, he supposes. Maybe after it’s all said and done, he’ll look back and see that he never would have been so drawn to Matty if he had been happy with Armie. He probably wouldn’t have hesitated to text him back if he knew that he would be prioritized over Elizabeth, a thought that makes him feel even worse. _Are you mad?_ he texts.

“What the fuck do you think?” he gets back only a minute later. Timmy presses his forehead against the wall and closes his eyes. “Is this some kind of revenge for me being married?” The second text only makes him feel more nauseous. “You just go around kissing random guys to punish me for kissing her?”

He can’t look at the texts anymore, opts to call Armie and bite the bullet. “I don’t really want to talk to you right now,” Armie says when he answers.

“Okay, but,” Timmy starts, his eyes closing as he leans his body weight against the wall. “We’re technically not even together and we’re definitely not exclusive and the last time we were in the same city you made it seem like this was over—”

“So you go fuck the first guy—”

“It was a kiss, a _kiss_ , nothing else happened!’

“You don’t even know him!”

“How does that make this worse?” Timmy asks, his lack of sleep making things sharp. “Seriously, how does that make this worse then you stringing me along when you’re married and in love with someone else?”

“That’s not—Timmy—”

“I kissed him. And yeah, it might have been a fucking mistake but I’m not sorry.” Armie’s silence makes Timmy wonder if this really is something they won’t come back from. “I want to feel wanted, too, Armie.”

“And I don’t make you feel wanted.”

“You won’t leave her,” he mumbles, sinking down to the ground. “And you won’t tell her about us. Do I feel _wanted_? Armie… fuck you won’t even let us take pictures, we have to fucking hide and get our publicists to drown the stories if we go anywhere together and I have a fucking clause in my contract that says I can’t talk to your wife about any of this!”

“You think this Matty guy is the answer to all your unhappiness—”

“Stop. He’s just. He’s a guy that likes me, there are guys that like me you know?”

“I like you.”

“Do you? I mean do you actually? Not just love me, but do you really like me? Because I think you just like having me around. You like that other people like me and yet I reply to _your_ goodnight texts.” Timmy feels a little guilty for putting it out there, but he’d been wondering for months. Armie’s reluctance to make more permanent moves, his flakiness, the constant swing between Timmy being his best friend and something more, it was all very confusing. Timmy understood at the beginning. Armie had never been in a relationship with a man, he’d never cheated before, etc. But it didn’t seem to get easier, and Timmy had become something he tucked away as his best friend, only pulling him out and fucking him whenever they were in the same city. Together but not. On his terms.

It would be one thing if he and Armie agreed that would be their relationship. But Armie would say things sometimes, buy him things, kiss his neck and whisper that he had never felt more himself with another person. He’d talk about their future and wanting to go on vacations with just him, ask Timmy where he wanted to settle down _, if_ he wanted to settle down, and it was all, very, confusing.

Because he’d flip a switch and go back to his wife and Timmy would be The Best Friend again and he didn’t know how to reconcile those two versions of their relationship, and Armie’s answer was always avoidance or sex.

“You know how much you mean to me,” Armie says after a while.

Timmy sighs and stares at his knees. “I’m not running off with him you know. It was one kiss. But Armie, _fuck_ I have to be really honest with you, it was so nice to just kiss someone and not care about it. And you know I love you, you know that. But this stuff fucks with me and sometimes I just want to enjoy this and not feel like shit. And you make it all so stressful.”

“I’m so fucking sorry that I make your life stressful—”

“Can you not? I’m trying to be honest here! You want me to be real, talk about what’s actually bothering me? You getting all shitty over a stupid kiss when you probably fucked your wife this week! Why is it so difficult for you to understand that this hurts me? That I might need some sort of outlet?” Timmy takes a shuddering breath and lets his head fall back. “Armie, this just isn’t working.”

“You’re going to break up with me over the phone.”

“I’m not—I can’t break up with you if we were never together to start with.”

“I thought we were.” Timmy’s eyes close. “And I am mad, Tim. I’m fucking angry you kissed him, because I want to be the one that kisses you.”

“You see how selfish that is, though?” Timmy practically shouts, his voice desperate. “You want both of us, but you expect us to just be in limbo for you.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

“Oh my god, can we stop changing the subject? How many times do we have to go over this?”

“Well, I don’t know, Timmy, I didn’t think we’d ever be having this conversation! What exactly do you want from me?”

“I don’t know. Something….else, I don’t know! I don’t fucking know, I need more then this though.”

“You want to see other people?”

“Armie.”

“You want to be able to kiss people because I can, right? You want to get even? You _know_ I’m in love with you. It’s not always going to be like this.”

“That’s what you’ve been saying, and we’re still in this place. I think I just need some time, and I think you do, too.” There’s a long pause before Timmy hears Armie sigh. His voice is thick and resigned when it comes through again.

“So you are breaking up with me.”

“I don’t know, Armie. But when I kissed him, I didn’t feel guilty. And that’s got to mean something. I just need a minute to breathe, you know? Maybe we can talk in a few days?”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” Timmy can tell by the tightness in his voice that he’s on an edge of overwhelming emotion. He closes his eyes and sees Armie holding back tears.

“I still love you, I always will. I just need to think.”

“Yeah, I get it. I probably should, too.” It’s still tight, but Timmy can hear his breath hitching. He tries not to think about it.

“Exactly, we both need to think.” Timmy’s heart is sinking with each line, but there’s a small voice in the back of his mind telling him this is the only way to be able to know if all of this is worth it or not. He needs to know what he’s willing to risk, to give up.

And so does Armie.

 

Sleeping is even less possible after the phone call, and Timmy finds himself thumbing through Instagram to pass the time. His heart jumps at a picture of himself with Matty, his eyes skimming along the lines of their bodies and settling on the way Matty looks at him.

He turns on a song of theirs and takes a deep breath as he stares up at the ceiling and begs for clarity.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Back to unresolved endings, it seems. Full circle.


End file.
